


Human

by adrenp



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (key word being "eventual"), (kind of), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), College AU, Eventual Happy Ending, Ghost Keith, M/M, Slow Burn, Vampire Lance, klance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 17:57:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11583261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrenp/pseuds/adrenp
Summary: "Lance knew he shouldn't have bought the stupid thing, but it was on sale. And now, here he was, trying to convince his new undead roommate to stop drinking the OJ straight out of the carton like an animal. Damned impulse shopping..."





	Human

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I have big plans for this fic, and I'm hoping when you finish the first chapter you'll be almost as excited as I am! 
> 
> Love,  
> Jules

Lance knew he shouldn't have bought the stupid thing, but it was on _sale_. And now, here he was, trying to convince his new undead roommate to stop drinking the OJ straight out of the carton like an animal. Damned impulse shopping...

_One Week Earlier:_

He hadn’t meant to stop at the antique shop, but the big sign out front said ‘FIRE SALE! EVERYTHING 85% OFF!’ in huge letters. Even if the sign was in comic sans, he couldn’t resist stopping. Just to browse.

As soon as he entered the little shop, he knocked something over. The space was crazy cluttered – there were rows and rows of knickknacks on shelves, haphazard stacks of junk from floor to ceiling, and piles of assorted baubles on top of old-fashioned tables. So, naturally, his suave self managed to break something within a minute of walking in. There was a short, hipstery-looking college girl manning the cash register. She looked up from her book long enough to shoot him a dirty look.

“I’ll pay for it!” Lance said. He didn’t really have to shout. The shop was pretty much one room, and the clutter made the area pretty small.

The girl was already engrossed in her book again. She didn’t acknowledge him. Lance stooped to pick up the thing he’d broken, careful to make sure his elbows wouldn’t knock something else off a shelf or tip over a stack of crap. The thing on the floor appeared to be a red ceramic figurine of… a cat? No, a lion. It was pretty neat, even if he’d broken its tail off. Lance pocketed it and started perusing the chaotic jumble of curios.

Over the course of about an hour and a half, he picked up and set back down: a bar of purple soap shaped like Abe Lincoln’s head, a stuffed weasel, a baby doll head, a pine cone hot-glued to the top of a stick, a puzzle titled ‘bacon tuxedo’, a jar of mayo from 1998 that appeared to be unopened, and an oil painting of Jesus playing soccer. The last one was really hard to walk away from, but Lance was running out of wall space in his apartment…

When he finally went to check out, he took the broken lion out of his pocket and set both pieces of it on the counter. Lance had to wave his hand in front of the girl’s face before she looked up. She sighed, set her book down, and looked at his lion.

“That it?” she asked, snapping her bubblegum.

Lance smiled, leaning against the counter and shooting her his patented ladykiller smolder, “That’s it. Good book?”

“Then it’ll be $1.50. Are you okay? You look a little… constipated.” she sounded equal parts disgusted and disinterested, ignoring the second half of his question.

Lance dropped his smolder. It was probably just the weird antique shop lighting, throwing his game off, “Yeah, yeah, I’m totally fine… Hang on a sec.” he fished around in his wallet for two quarters. Dropping the change on the counter with the dollar, he put the lion back in his pocket and made his escape.

Once he reached his car, he swung himself into the driver’s seat and pulled the same face he had used on the chick in the shop a minute ago. Yikes. So his smolder needed a little work…

Shaking it off, he plugged his phone into the aux cord and cranked the volume. There was no problem so severe that it couldn’t be fixed by a little Lemonade. The drive to his house from the shop was only five or six minutes, but it was enough time for him to full-force belt some Beyoncé.

He parked sloppily (the lot was usually pretty much empty), and grabbed the groceries from out of the back seat of the car. Lance managed to fit all of the grocery bags on his person, because, after all, two trips were for the weak. Despite the three narrow flights of stairs that he had to climb to reach his crappy apartment, he made it with no casualties. None of the bags broke this time, and he could almost still feel his left arm.

With some small amount of magic, he unlocked the door and kicked it open, setting all of the bags down on the couch. There wasn’t a whole lot of furniture in his apartment - a bed, a table, two chairs, a desk, and obviously, the couch - and everything was pretty much the same room. The apartment had a small galley kitchen with an ancient fridge, a broken microwave, and an incredibly ornery stove. The ‘living room’ was connected to the kitchen, and it was pretty much comprised of a couch and a tv that Lance had dragged inside from the corner. It couldn’t get cable, but it wasn’t bad to watch movies on. The bathroom was tiny - a shower, a toilet, and a sink all crammed into the smallest space possible - with cracked tile and perpetually leaky faucets. Lance’s bedroom felt tinier, with just enough room to fit a desk and a bed. The apartment really was pretty shitty, but it was Lance’s, and that was all that mattered to him.

It wasn’t until later that night, after he’d put away all the groceries and showered for bed, that he noticed the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck. For a while he tried to chalk it up to sleep deprivation, but the feeling wouldn’t go away. The hairs on his arms were raised. He had goosebumps. There was a weird, cold feeling in his chest. Every alarm in his brain was screaming _intruder!_ but he knew, rationally, that he was completely alone. He didn’t know what to do, so he just grabbed the antique store lion and climbed into bed. For good luck, he rubbed the little red cat’s head with his thumb.

Lance fell asleep with the lion in his hand.

-

Something had woken him up.

He was breathing hard, chest heaving, eyes wide. Somehow he was sitting bolt upright in bed, but he didn’t remember getting up. The bed sheets were tangled around his legs, damp with cold sweat. He felt… _watched_. Supremely creeped out.Very paranoid. Unreasonably and irrationally terrified to get out of bed.

The alarm clock on his nightstand glared baldly at him in red. It was 3:29 am.

The air in his room felt like it was getting _colder_ , and fast. His heart was thud-thud-thudding in his chest and his throat was constricting with panic caused by something unknown. Lance decided to do the logical thing. He’d seen enough people do it in horror movies.

“Hello? Who’s there?” his voice cracked weirdly mid-sentence.

Even though he knew, rationally, that he was probably the scariest thing in his apartment complex, he still felt like he was about to jump out of his skin. The silence wasn’t helping.

Thankfully (?), it didn’t stay quiet for long.

There was a sharp _bang_ that sounded a lot like a pot cracking the tiles in his kitchen, followed by a muttered curse. Lance’s shoulders relaxed slightly. Now he knew what he was up against. A burglar.

Man, that guy _had_ to be disappointed.  

With a nearly supernatural silence, he pushed back his sheets and stepped out of bed. On his tiptoes, he grabbed his heaviest textbook of his nightstand (technically it was a plastic bin, but you know), before thinking better of it and setting it back down soundlessly. He still had a hard time remembering that he didn’t really have to worry about defending himself from people now.

Pulse thrumming, and snuck out of his bedroom and into his living room. He dropped noiselessly onto the floor and crawled behind the couch. Slowly, he creeped to the edge and peered around and into the kitchen. He could vaguely see a pair of legs.

Ugh. This guy was not only wearing skinny jeans, they were _black_ skinny jeans. With a pair of what appeared to be leather boots. Guaranteed he was wearing a quirky shirt from Hot Topic. Lance’s irritation doubled. It occurred to him that, even if this guy hadn’t been a dime-a-dozen emo kid, Lance would be able to fight him off, so he might as well get it over with.

In one fluid motion, he popped up from behind the couch and said, “Hey!”

As Lance's sharp ears had guessed, the pot that had been on his stove was now on the kitchen floor, and next to it? A trio of broken tiles. A slick of water had spilled, left over from his dinner. There were a few tiny ramen noodle pieces floating in it.

The guy turned around, holding a carton of milk. He was wearing an old-fashioned jacket and a blank expression, but there was something wrong about his appearance (aside from the fact that he was _appearing_ in Lance’s kitchen at 3:00 in the morning.)

Suddenly Lance was glad he hadn’t brought that textbook, because he would have definitely dropped it. The intruder was freaking _transparent._

“You’re see-through!” Lance exclaimed.

The guy’s expression barely shifted; one of his eyebrows raised slightly. “And you’re a fledgling. I’m Keith. I believe I’m your new roommate.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I've recently instituted a rule that I won't update until I have at least 5 comments (not including my own, of course.) But, if you're bored and want some more weird Klance AUs, check out my other fic, 'Reasons to Visit France'! I update RFV pretty frequently and it's my favorite thing to write, so, y'know.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you liked it! I'm already planning out the rest of the fic <3
> 
> Love,  
> Jules


End file.
